


this is my idea (of love)

by the-noble-idiot (1004_Angel)



Series: Klance AU Month 2019 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura's there for like ten seconds, Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Balmeran Hunk, Childhood Friends, Childhood Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Galra Keith (Voltron), Klance Month 2019, M/M, Olkarion Pidge, Rivals to Lovers, Sort Of, Swan Princess AU, galtean klance, sorry I suck at kisses, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 00:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17632553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1004_Angel/pseuds/the-noble-idiot
Summary: Klance Month Day 2 - Galtean KlanceThe first meeting between Crown Prince Lance of Altea and Prince Keith of Daizabaal was, to put it mildly, less than perfect.





	this is my idea (of love)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey-o, Klance AU Month 2019 Day 2 - Galtean
> 
> Yknow that movie Swan Princess with the whole This Is My Idea song? Like that, but Galtean Klance
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItkkTerzTAw

The first meeting between Crown Prince Lance of Altea and Prince Keith of Daizabaal was, to put it mildly, less than perfect.

The Galran escort, composed of the Prince, the Emperor, and a governess, landed in Altea with nary a fuss. Lance bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation, a seven-year-old ball of energy that was impossible to contain.

“Are they here yet are they here yet are they here yet?” Lance asked his elder sister, the signature blue eyes of the Altean royal family sparkling with a kind of excitement only a child can have.

“The ship just landed,” Allura informs him. “Stand tall and straight, Lanciel.”

Lance does as he is told, back straight and expression pulled into what he thinks looks cool but instead looks like he just swallowed a lemon.

The Galran entourage is led into the throne room by a vanguard of Altean soldiers, spears glinting in the shining hall. The purple, yellow, and red tones of the Galra stand out starkly against the light pastels of the Altean court, but they stride in proudly with an authoritative air. The tallest and most heavy set Galra must be Emperor Zarkon, his expression blank, firm, and dare Lance say, cold. He is an old friend of his father’s though, so Lance pays it no mind. His attention is elsewhere.

The youngest son of Emperor Zarkon, an eight year old Galra whose purple skin is several shades lighter than that of his father, more of a lavender than a grape. Various markings cover his cheeks and curl around what Lance can see of his neck beneath the high-collared dress clothing he wears. His sclera glow an acid yellow, dark purple pupils looking everywhere except the Alteans waiting for him at the end of the hall. His messy black hair is streaked with maroon, slightly fuzzy ears sticking out from either side of his head and looking so silky that Lance really really _really wants to touch---_

“Introducing His Majesty Emperor Zarkon and Prince Ketherian of Daizabaal.”

The introductions between the kings goes over Lance’s head as he continues to catch the gaze of Prince Ketherian. Every time he does, Ketherian flushes a darker shade of purple and looks away, ears flattening against his head in an emotion Lance doesn’t understand yet.

"This is my son, Lanciel," King Alfor says, a gentle hand on Lance's back to shove him forward. “Go on,” he urges. “Go say hello to your future husband.”

Lance doesn’t quite understand the meaning of _husband_ yet, he only understands that his father has brought him a friend to play with. He takes off down the dais and meets Ketherian, shoved forward by his own father, in the middle. Ketherian looks like he’d rather be anywhere but where he is right now. He looks over his shoulder at his father, who glares at him.

“Hello, Prince Lanciel,” Ketherian says stonily, turning back to Lance and scuffing his foot against the floor in annoyance. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, Prince Ketherian!” Lance dips into a bow the way his governess had taught him, a gesture that has Ketherian scurrying back to his father. Emperor Zarkon glares at his son again, a look in his glowing eyes that gives Lance the creeps.

Ketherian practically pouts before turning back to Lance again. “I’m… excited to spend the summer here in Altea.”

Lance frowns. Ketherian sounds anything but excited. In fact he sounds downright miserable. He doesn't want to be Lance's friend at all, and that makes his mood sours instantly. _He looks conceited. If I’m lucky I’ll get Yelmore Pox and not have to deal with this kid._

“So happy you could come,” Lance forces out.

“So happy to be here.” Ketherian looks ready to run.

 _This is not my idea of fun,_ both of them think.

* * *

The decaphoebes passed. The first summer was spent at the Altean court, the decaphoebe following at the Galran palace. Every decaphoebe saw Lance and Ketherian - or Keith as he preferred to call himself - travelling to each other’s kingdoms, each summer even more tortuous than the last. Lance’s initial impression that Keith was a conceited know-it-all turned out to be true; he did his best to ignore Lance for the first several summers, avoiding him whenever possible and firmly uninviting him to practice swordplay with his governess, a human knight bought from an intergalactic slaver.

“Shiro is _way_ too busy training me with swords to teach you,” Keith said once, his haughtiness not going over well with the now ten year old Lance.

“Oh _yeah?”_ Lance shot back. “Well _I’m_ too busy learning to be the best shot in the whole galaxy to even have _time_ to learn sword fighting!”

The disagreement turned into a physical altercation involving wooden swords that had Shiro forcing the two princes apart. Neither of their fathers were pleased with them, and Lance left Daizabaal that summer covered in bruises and wrapped in bandages.

_This is not my idea of fun._

Lance tried everything he could think of to avoid travelling to Daizabaal. “I get airsick,” he tried once, despite Allura knowing full well he had taken the speeder out just the other day. Another time he faked a cold, only to be reminded by his Balmeran friend Hunk that Alteans don’t _get_ colds.

Eventually, as the princes entered their teenage years, Lance decided that if he would be forced to spend four phoebes with Prince Mullethead himself every decaphoebe, then he was going to make the most of it. And that meant bugging the _hell_ out of Keith everywhere he went.

When alone Lance would learn traditional Galran board games, and proceed to kick Keith’s furry ass at them come summer.

"C'mon, Keithers," Lance joked, resting his chin on his interwoven fingers with a smirk. "You know you like me."

"I'd like you better if you'd lose at cards."

He made friends with the Galran guards, upping his charisma skill until he could charm the pants off even the most stoic of warriors, much to Keith’s disdain. 

 _Now_ this _is my idea of fun._

Keith in turn would challenge the Altean guards to sparring matches, wiping the floor with every single one. “Looks like you need some new soldiers in your Guard,” he smirked at a fuming Lance, and Lance found himself wanting to punch him in the mouth. With his mouth. Because Keith looked so _cool_ effortlessly taking out those guards and _why was Lance fantasizing about kissing his rival._

For as long as Lance could remember, he’d been told they’d someday wed. It was a horrifying thought that the Altean prince had kept buried in the back of his mind, under lock and key, never to see the light of day. But now, as he sees how fluidly Keith movies, how he looks when he’s deep in concentration, the way his hair falls over his enormous ears… the subtle ways to show he cares.

Maybe, perhaps, it wouldn’t be so bad?

* * *

Lance yelps as he is shoved into the room, Allura smirking at him as she shuts the door behind him. “Alluraaaa!” he tries, throwing his fist against the door and cheek markings glowing in his agitation. “C’mon, don’t make me --!”

“Do you ever shut up.”

Lance leans his forehead against the door with a heavy sigh as Keith’s familiar voice sounds from behind him. _He’s so immature._  “You should know me well enough by now, Keithers, that I do everything ex _cept_ shut… up…”

Lance turned to face his intended, words trailing off as he takes in his figure. Whatever kind of Galra puberty that happened between within the last time they saw each other really hit Keith like a fucking train. Glow up. Ten year challenge. Hormone monster. However it could be referred to as, Lance did, unable to tear his eyes away from the Galra.

He’d grown taller, shooting up until he was a good few inches above Lance. His hair is longer, bangs cut short as they frame a strong jaw, the rest gathered into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck and falling low between his shoulder blades. His facial markings had become more pronounced, stretching all the way up his cheeks and practically guiding his gaze towards Keith’s eyes, slightly glowing a sunshine yellow as they too, take in Lance’s form.

Alright. Lance will admit it.

Keith is _hot._

Lance knows that he had a glow up of his own. The rest of his Altean markings finally came in, outlining the contours of his body and pulsing lightly with his emotions. His jaw was longer, chin sharper, muscles leaner. It was something he liked to use to his advantage, combined with his level one hundred charisma skill, and Prince Lance of Altea was a silver tongued force to be reckoned with.

The boys finish sizing the other up. If Lance didn’t know any better he would say that Keith was flushing a darker purple in his cheeks.

“Apparently you _can_ shut up,” he says, his voice losing that sharp edge that it used to have, replacing disdain for amusement. A smile curves his lips, revealing slightly pointed canines.

“You’ve already talked more than I have this time,” Lance says back, leaning against a column because if he doesn’t his knees might start buckling.

Keith shrugs. “Time changes people.”

“I’ve literally known you my whole life, Lord Mullethead,” Lance grins.

Keith eyes him. “And how have I changed?”

Lance lets his eyes move over the firm armor of Galran royalty, the blacks and purples highlighting the hard lines of his form. He tries not to imagine what he looks like under all that metal.

“You got taller.”

“So did you,” Keith says, his voice is now significantly softer, a tone that Lance has _never_ heard coming out of his mouth.

“What is with you today,” Lance asks, willing his heart to resume it’s normal tempo and failing miserably. “Who are you and what did you do with Keith?”

“I’ve just… come to some realizations lately,” Keith says carefully, unconsciously rubbing his thumb and forefingers together, a nervous habit of his that Lance picked up himself.

“What kind of realizations?”

A bell chimes in the distance, drawing both boys’ gazes through the window and into the courtyard, where the welcome party for the Galran delegation is beginning.

Keith returns his gaze to Lance, offering his hand and bending slightly at the waist. “Shall we discuss it over a dance?”

Lance doesn’t know why he doesn’t hesitate to take Keith’s hand, keeps pace with him as they are escorted down the stairs from the room where they had met up, and follows him willingly onto the dance floor. It’s normal for the two of them to start the festivities with a dance, but something in the air is different this time. In years past, grips on hands or waists would be a strength contest, staring each other down forehead-to-forehead in less of a dance and more like a graceful wrestling match.

Now, however, they actually glide across the dance floor, Keith’s cape whipping around his legs and Lance’s billowing formal robes flowing like a gentle stream. Keith’s hand is warm in Lance’s, his grip on Lance’s hip light but firmly guiding. Keith is looking everywhere but Lance’s eyes, over his shoulder or down at his feet like this is his first dance lesson.

“What realizations?” Lance asks again once he’s found his voice.

The music swells, other people are joining the dance floor. The princes are just two in a sea of dozens.

Keith takes a breath. “I’ve been having… thoughts… for some time now. I wasn’t sure what they were until Shiro was describing to me a companion he had left on his home planet, and his words matched my feelings.”

“His companion.”

Keith nods, almost imperceptibly. “His… betrothed.”

Lance is not dumb. Despite their opposition, he and Keith have practically been betrothed since birth, even if it was never officially announced or ordained. If Keith was having thoughts that his mentor had for his own beloved, thoughts that were creeping their way into Lance’s mind even now…

“What…” Lance pauses, coughs, tries again. “What kind of thoughts?”

Keith’s ears flatten against his head, a betrayal of his nervousness that Lance had always secretly found adorable but only recently was able to admit to himself. “The… non-platonic kind.”

Lance can’t help but grin at the dark flush of purple on Keith’s cheeks. The soft peach fuzz of his fur rises slightly as Lance moves his hand from Keith’s shoulder to his cheek, thumb tracing the outline of his markings. “Is that so?”

Keith grumbles. “Please don’t tease me like this,” he says. “I understand that we are expected to join our kingdoms, and I do not expect this to be a mutual affair. I was only convinced to tell you this out of my respect for you and the Altean culture of honesty. I just think that if we are to be married, willingly or not, there should be no secrets between us.”

Most Galra eyes are a solid yellow, which often makes it difficult for other species to read their body language. And yet Keith’s pupils - a deep royal purple - stand out as one of the most elegant things about him. A phrase from Earth that Shiro had taught them as children - _eyes are the windows to the soul --_ could not be more relevant now. Lance sees inside him, and his doubts are gone.

Lance leans forward so he can press their foreheads together. Their dancing - though it’s more of a swaying at this point - slows to a stop. Keith’s lips part in a gasp, Lance’s eyes flicking down to catch the movement before going back up again to find those yellow eyes. “Willingly,” he whispers.

Keith blinks, his ears perking forward slightly. “Pardon?”

“You said if we are to be married, willingly or not, there should be no secrets,” Lance clarifies, inhaling deeply through his nose. He gets an earthy scent that surrounds most Galra, but also a musk that must be uniquely Keith. “So here’s me revealing my secret. I would be willing.”

Keith swallows.

Lance lids his eyes.

The first brush of lips sends a tingle through Lance’s body, burning him from the inside out. His breathing is shallow, Keith’s quick and hot. There’s a millimeter of space between them.

“Is this a good idea?” Lance murmurs.

“This was my idea,” Keith responds. “And if you don’t kiss me in the next two seconds I’m gonna--”

Lance never finds out what Keith would do, but he has a pretty good idea.

The kiss is as chaste as Lance can make it. A small part of him is still vaguely aware that they’re in public, on the dance floor, and that their guardians are watching them like hawks, and Lance would _really_ like to not embarrass himself in front of all these dignitaries by making out for all to see. He doesn’t know how comfortable Keith would be with that either.

So he keeps his tongue in his mouth, resolving himself to simply press their lips together, gentle caresses that have Lance shivering in his boots, Keith breathing soft sighs between kisses, and keeping his hands firmly cupping Keith’s cheek. Keith’s own hands are tight on Lance’s waist, his long fingernails painful but not unpleasantly so. Lance doesn’t let his mind wander any further than that.

They part, breathing just a few notches heavier than before. Keith bites his own lip, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Lance plants one more kiss there before moving them back into the dance floor, Keith stumbling after him. He pointedly ignores Hunk’s enthusiastic thumbs up from his place behind the hor d'oeuvres table, his sister’s knowing smirk, Pidge’s wolf whistles. He sees Keith’s guard, Shiro, off to the side looking like a proud older brother.

The song ends. Partners bow to each other, moving off the dance floor to refresh themselves while new partygoers took their place.

If anyone noticed the two princes slipping away from the festivities, giggling like school children, they didn’t say anything.


End file.
